“All right...” He pushed his plate away and fisted the notes. If I wasn’t watching for a purpose; if I wasn’t peering at him like he was an experiment, I might’ve missed it.
But sure enough, as he counted the bills and found four and not his welcome three, his lips twisted in disgust. His body twitched as if the extra note was abhorrent. But then his disapproval was gone, and he placed the notes on the table before peeling one off the top and snapping it between his fingers. “Origami takes patience.”
“I have patience.”
“It takes a steady hand.”
“I’m steady.”
I sat on my shaking hands, doing my best to hide my lie. I didn’t have concrete evidence that three was the magic number with Elder, nor should my mind be awash with scenarios of pouncing on him and forcing him to make love to me purely to see if he’d end after taking me three times.
But the more I studied him, the more my belly liquefied and the more I craved. It was past rational at this point. I’d walked away from him to stop this behaviour. I’d left him to protect him from the awakening inside me.
But I couldn’t ignore my female to his male anymore. The lust to his desire.
“You need to come closer if I’m going to show you.” His voice turned dark with a hint of soot.
Scooting my chair closer, the hairs on the back of my neck rose as Elder bent toward me then discarded the dollar on the table. Arching sideways, he pulled his wallet from his back trouser pocket. “We’ll do this on a different note, okay?”
I expected him to pull out worthless paper—after all, why waste money when I was a beginner. Instead, he yanked free a ten-pound note. The currency of my home. The colours and details just as I remembered.
“Pounds from England?”
He nodded. “We’ll be there in a few days. It’s appropriate.”
I’d started this purely to find some way into his lap, but now he’d pulled out a tenner and his eyes glittered with harsh intelligence, I found myself wanting the fake lesson.
His hair slipped over his forehead as he bent and smoothed the bill on the tablecloth. “It’s not square, so that’s your first challenge. Most origami—or at least the easier designs—are with perfect squares.”
“I want to do what you do.”
He smiled sadly. “Believe me...you don’t.”
Believe me...I do.
Silence thickened my heartbeat, and Elder somehow pulled away from me. Not physically but something mental and internal captured his attention, stealing him from the dining room, from the Phantom, from this moment.
Regret shadowed his features, followed by a cringe of denial and shame. Such thick, thick shame.
He fingered the money as if it wasn’t his but something he’d stolen. It wasn’t just an innate piece of paper with the value stamped on the face—it was a reminder to him...a reminder of what?
What could he be thinking to justify such self-hatred?
I placed my hand over his, cupping the ten-pound note. “What is it?”
Shaking himself, he blinked. “Nothing.”
“It’s something.”
“Nothing you need to know.”
“Everything I want to know.”
His lips pursed, his eyes dancing from my mouth to my nose to my gaze. “If I tell you, you’ll once again think differently of me.”
“I’ve never once thought differently of you—no matter what you’ve told me.”
His fingers flinched under mine as if trying to deny the truth. Not once had I feared his honesty, nor had I made him regret showing me what he hid deep inside. I hadn’t asked questions about his father and brother’s death even though his mother blamed him. I didn’t demand to know if he was a good guy or bad because my heart had made its choice.
“Tell me...”
He sighed heavily, crushing the note beneath his palm. “You might as well know.”
“Know what?”
“How big a fraud I am.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Elder
Ten Years Ago
LIFE HADN’T ALWAYS been this way for me.
I hadn’t always been respected for my wealth or shunned because of my unsavoury background. That was entirely new.
Three weeks to be exact.
Twenty-one days ago, I was invisible. I got by with pickpocketing the rich who now knocked on my fucking door to be friends. My fingers that’d been taught to be nimble at snatching a wallet after being a maestro with a cello were now imprisoned with more money than I could ever spend.
What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?
And why did people care what existed in my damn bank account when deciding if I was a good or bad?
I was bad.
Through and through.
I’d stolen this life, not earned it. It wasn’t luck or karma or any other happy circumstances. Only Selix knew the truth, and the truth ate me up inside until I was riddled with more holes than I could bear.
I already had far too much guilt to carry. This? It just added another world of hurt.
I’d wanted to give it back.
All of it...every penny.
But that was before Selix took thievery and twisted it into a more acceptable concept.
A loan. A helping hand. Borrowing from someone to fix my past, absolve my sins, and ensure my family was never in danger again because of me.
So here I fucking was.
Swallowing my shame, going by a new name, and doing my best to keep the truth locked deep down tight and lie to everyone. I lied to the station producer. I lied to the news anchor. I lied to every useless person watching this program.
It was a goddamn shit-show. And I was angry. So damn angry.
These ingrates wanted to know me. They pretended to like me so they might stand a chance at stealing what was now mine. But they would never know me. I would never let them get close to knowing me. My value of the human race had been low before this had started. Now it was in the fucking gutter.
“Mr. Prest.”
I pulled at the collar of my shirt, hating the tight confines of expensive blazers and ties. Before, I’d lived in hoodies and jeans—things I could move fast in, run quick in, and vanish into crowds without being caught.
Now, I was adorned in appropriate rich-man’s wardrobe, and it suffocated me.
These people wanted to know me? Well, tough shit. I’d never tell them about my days on the streets, the worry of not being able to afford healthcare for myself or my mother, and the god-awful truth that I was the reason we were homeless.
Not that those circumstances had mattered when I’d stolen the one thing that’d changed my life faster than a fairy fucking godmother and ensured I’d never be alone again if I didn’t want to be. I could buy affection, bribe friends, and pay for anything I wanted.
I had money, and people loved money even if you were a liar, a cheater, and a con-artist.
Turned out, the only thing it couldn’t buy was family.
And I knew...I’d tried.
After I grew used to the idea of borrowing the money instead of outright stealing it, I decided to give most of it to my mother. I envisioned her welcoming me back, letting me resume my place, and forgiving me.
She’d merely spat on me and told me never to call her Mother again.
“Uh, Mr. Prest?”